Chapter 16: Hogwarts has never lacked students of exceptional talent!

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It must be said: aside from being somewhat caustic and having an unappealing demeanor and appearance, Professor Snape possessed many other admirable qualities. For instance, he left Ian with a substantial sum of Galleons. Although today's purchases of various necessities were costly, the purse—clearly affected by the Trace-Free Extension Charm—still contained a staggering wealth of one hundred and fifty Galleons.

Do not underestimate this figure.

An ordinary Ministry of Magic clerk would take nearly two months to earn such an amount, assuming they saved every Galleon without spending a penny.

Consider this: the Weasley family could barely afford seven Galleons for a wand.

It is clear, then, that one hundred and fifty Galleons is an enviable sum for both young witches and wizards and adults alike.

"Hmm, even if I were really a child born after my parents' sacrifice, I can’t feel this guilty," Ian thought, growing more suspicious. Could his mother truly be a clone of Lily Potter?

No way! It’s only the 1990s! Neither the Muggle nor wizarding worlds had such technology!

"Chilling to think about! Absolutely chilling!"

Though uneasy, Ian focused more on his magical studies. After moving everything into the tidy little cabin provided by Snape, he eagerly took out his wand and picked up the indispensable Hogwarts textbook, Standard Spells: Beginner.

By dusk, the last glow of sunset had vanished beyond the horizon.

As night fell, Ian chose the simplest and most frequently used spell.

"Lumos!"

Following the textbook’s instructions, he concentrated, synchronized his thoughts with his wand, took a deep breath, and softly uttered the incantation.

In the next moment, the tip of his wand glimmered faintly.

But the light vanished quickly.

It was clearly an unsuccessful attempt, yet Ian felt no discouragement; instead, his eyes sparkled with excitement.

When it came to learning, many people are hindered by various obstacles, unable to perceive or track their progress—often the greatest reason they cannot persist in mastering a craft.

However, for Ian, this was not a problem.

[Lumos (Level 0): 3/50]

After a single failed attempt, a new skill bar appeared on Ian’s interface. He had experienced this process more than once before.

"Looks like my magical talent isn’t weak at all!"

Staring at the information displayed, Ian was thrilled.

Each attempt granted three proficiency points. With fewer than twenty tries, he would master this spell—reaching the most basic beginner level.

When skill acquisition can be quantified, it is as if the gods reveal their health bars.

"Lumos!"

"Lumos!"

"Lumos!"

In the empty cabin, white light flickered repeatedly.

Each attempt was fueled by Ian’s passion for magic and his anticipation of what extraordinary traits might emerge.

...

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Hogwarts.

The Headmaster’s Office.

As the most powerful wizard in the magical community today, Albus Dumbledore sat behind a solid wooden desk like an ordinary elderly man, dressed in faded floral pajamas.

The lamp on the desk emitted a steady glow reminiscent of an old oil lamp, with no visible wiring. At the center lay an open book.

Aurora Grindelwald.

Dumbledore’s gaze fixed on one name among the many listed, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting a pair of weary yet bright eyes.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His fingers drummed on the desk as if deep in thought. Staying up late like this was unusual for an old man, certainly indicating something troubling his mind.

A rumbling sound came from the mechanism.

Dumbledore did not look up.

A figure hurried into the office.

"Albus, you never told me Ian is a born Legilimens!" Snape’s face was filled with anger, his tone accusatory.

The portraits lining the walls covered their ears at the loud interrogation, though a few leaned forward as if eager to watch the spectacle.

"I thought some things are best discovered firsthand—that’s what makes them surprising. Just like I never told Mr. Prince about the inseparable connection between you two."

Dumbledore finally raised his head, his voice calm yet gentle. With a graceful wave, the book on the desk closed by itself.

The Book of Admission.

That was its title.

Every student accepted to Hogwarts had their name inscribed by the Acceptance Quill in this volume. Hogwarts’ enrollment system always depended on these two alchemical artifacts.

Of course, the copy on Dumbledore’s desk was not the original Book of Admission but likely a linked replica. The originals were securely locked away in a tower no student ever visited.

"His condition is abnormal!" Snape stood in the center of the office, his expression edged with residual fear. "Occlumency has no effect; I have tried my utmost more than once."

"He claims he can only sense my emotions, but I believe he can do far more. Albus, I have never seen such an unreasonable Legilimens."

Snape’s eyes locked onto Dumbledore’s.

"It turns out some people truly excel beyond imagination. Severus, I think you understand that well enough," Dumbledore said without changing expression.

He had long sensed something unusual about Ian.

"I have met other born Legilimens, but none possessed such a domineering invasiveness. His talent is far too dangerous!"

Snape’s tone was grave and sincere, tinged with unmistakable concern, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on Dumbledore.

That look seemed to want to consume Dumbledore whole, making him sit up straighter.

"Exceptional talent is not necessarily a bad thing."

Dumbledore’s voice remained gentle.

"We agreed from the start! He just needs to attend school normally, graduate, and live an ordinary life! Damn it! Next year, you’re bringing that child into the school!"

"At a time like this, what he least needs is exceptional talent. He only needs to live as any unremarkable student, leading an unremarkable life!"

Snape’s words were laced with grit and bitterness.

"I think Mr. Prince’s life is not for any of us to decide," Dumbledore said, understanding Snape’s somewhat anxious reaction.

However, he did not agree with Snape’s plan.

"That is a right even parents do not possess. I know what you’re thinking, and I advise you to abandon such notions."

Dumbledore stared directly into Snape’s eyes.

Snape fell silent.

After a moment, Dumbledore spoke softly:

"He will hate you."

"Do you think I care?" Snape scoffed.

"Severus, if the long years have taught me anything, it is never to be so self-righteous. Trying to impose your will on another’s life is utterly foolish."

"No magic, no matter how powerful, can undo the consequences of such actions."

In Dumbledore’s silver lenses reflected the lamp’s glow and Snape’s figure.

"We are all failures; who are we to decide what a proper life is?"

Dumbledore’s words shifted Snape’s expression like a dramatic change in a Peking opera mask.

"You are no failure, the greatest wizard alive, Headmaster of Hogwarts; many in the wizarding world fear your power."

"Albus, excessive humility only makes you appear insincere."

Snape snorted coldly, speaking bluntly.

Dumbledore shook his head without comment.

"In fact, I didn’t tell you about him to have you change anything about him. On the contrary, I want to see you changed because of him."

"Severus, you need him, not the other way around."

Dumbledore’s words irritated Snape greatly.

"What nonsense are you spouting?"

Snape’s tone rose several octaves.

Dumbledore merely smiled.

"I don’t need you to direct my life!"

Snape fixed his gaze on Dumbledore.

"Whatever scheme you have, you must swear to me, make an unbreakable vow, and tell me he is not part of your plan."

Snape clearly did not fully trust Dumbledore.

"First, you and many others overestimate my wisdom. Second, if it will make you feel better... of course."

Dumbledore shrugged helplessly and took out his wand—a tool essential in the magical world for making Unbreakable Vows.

This magic required two parties to point their wands at each other before a witness and declare their vows. Once accepted, the vow created an almost unbreakable bond. Breaking it would bring severe consequences.

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"Are you satisfied now?"

Putting away his wand, Dumbledore showed no anger.

"I don’t know what you’re scheming, putting that fellow into the school, but no matter what, I hope you truly fulfill the duties of Hogwarts’ Headmaster."

"Protect every student’s safety."

Under the Unbreakable Vow’s binding, Snape’s expression softened somewhat. Yet clearly, he still harbored doubts and dissatisfaction about some of Dumbledore’s decisions.

"That is my responsibility."

Dumbledore’s voice was steady and resolute, inspiring trust.

"I will watch that child carefully after he arrives."

Snape swept his robes, grimaced, and turned away, disappearing quickly from the office. Dumbledore lowered his head once more to the replica Book of Admission on his desk.

"Snape has really changed!"

"Indecisive! A disgrace to Slytherin! I think he should have gone to Hufflepuff!"

"I’d like to see that child. Francis’ Occlumency is formidable, yet a born Legilimens still frightens him?"

"No matter how talented, can anyone be as skilled as me? Hogwarts has never lacked gifted students!"

...

After Snape left, the portraits of former Hogwarts headmasters chattered excitedly.

The noisy atmosphere did not disturb Dumbledore’s thoughts.

He lightly waved his hand again, and the book on the desk flipped open swiftly.

The same name.

The same contemplation.

Aurora Grindelwald.

Upon first seeing this name in the Book of Admission, Dumbledore had visited an old friend in Nurmengard. The surname clearly linked to the original Dark Lord.

Gellert Grindelwald.

The person listed was not a direct descendant of Gellert Grindelwald but had somehow inherited that rare talent from his bloodline.

In fact, not long ago, Dumbledore had shared the same doctrine with Snape—ideas influenced by that visit to Gellert Grindelwald.

"Albus, our failures stem from wanting to change too much, too many people, without realizing we are merely more powerful wizards."

"Wizards can shift fate but must not try to decide it... Now, I only want this child to walk her own wizarding path, carrying the lessons of my reflection."

These were Gellert Grindelwald’s exact words to Dumbledore, tinged with a plea that was hard to refuse.

Yet, Dumbledore still hesitated and wondered if Grindelwald’s words concealed other intentions.

Indeed, Grindelwald might not lie, but he was certainly capable of misleading.

No one knew language’s art better than Gellert Grindelwald.

Previously, Dumbledore’s humility was not false modesty; he had many regrets from his own arrogance.

Hence, Dumbledore resonated deeply with Grindelwald’s words.

And for this reason, he worried what mischief Grindelwald had in mind.

Not without reason.

After many years in Nurmengard, Grindelwald had changed far more than Dumbledore expected. The most significant change occurred in 1980.

"1980..."

On a day that year, the despondent Grindelwald seemed to regain his youthful vigor. It was the first time in many years Dumbledore rushed to see him in Nurmengard.

"Albus, I hope you will witness the world’s change with me, not stop it."

"You can stop me, stop many things, stop that brat named Tom, but, Albus, neither of us can stop the rise of legend."

That year, Grindelwald, renewed in spirit, even redecorated his residence and dined on steak, delivering a meaningful warning to Dumbledore.

And this year was the year the child born in 1980 was enrolling.

"The legend you speak of is your descendant, isn’t it?" Dumbledore softly murmured while gently touching the name in the Book of Admission, words only he could hear.